A hurt look flits across her face, then she sets her jaw and narrows her eyes at me. "I'd suck your dick, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to find it."
I'm going to retort that I'm happy to help her with that, but she's already spun around and I watch her retreat, her ponytail bouncing as she walks away. I chuckle. Maybe Little Miss Perfect has a little bit of an edge, after all. That's not what I expected. Perhaps there's more to her than I thought there was.
*
PRESENT DAY
Addison is mostly ignoring me, her nose buried in that damn cell phone of hers, texting or checking her social media accounts or whatever the hell it is she's doing. I have no idea what the problem is with that girl, why there's a massive stick up her ass. Sure, I treated her like crap when we were teenagers. But she has to know that I was a normal jackass teenage boy. Blame it on hormones.
It's been a week since I moved in and she's barely spoken a word to me, and when she does, it's terse, business-like. Appropriate. We talk about the schedule, where she needs to be and what she needs to do. Nothing else. I tell myself that's probably for the best, really.
The problem is that when she walks around the house in these short-shorts and tank tops, I can barely fucking breathe. And when she passes me in the hallway, the smell of her shampoo makes me hard.
Her damn shampoo.
There might be something wrong with me.
Her chilliness is good. She should keep hating me. I need her to keep hating me. It's what's best for her. It's what's best for me.
There's a knock on the front door, and the doorknob jiggles. When I pull it open, Addy's sister Grace is bent over, tying a kid's shoe. She speaks without looking up. "Oh my God, Addison, why is the door locked? You always – "
"Grace?"
She turns around. "Hendrix!"
"How are you, Grace?"
"Hendrix, look at you!" she squeals, drawing me in for a hug. "You're all grown up! Mom said you were back helping Addison, but I didn't really expect you to be here. This is Brady."
"Hey, Brady." I squat down, but he hides his face in Grace's leg. "He's what, three?"
"In a couple of months," she says. "He's shy with strangers. Come on, baby, let's go see Auntie Addy."
Addison is already behind me. "Where's my favorite nephew?" she asks, and Brady looks at her, timid at first, then breaks into a huge grin and runs headlong, crashing into her. She scoops him up in her arms, turning to walk past me without making eye contact, while she coos at the kid. "Guess what I have for you, baby doll? I was at the store the other day, and there was an awesome truck that had your name written all over it. Do you want to see it?"
Grace is inside the door, a diaper bag on her shoulder, and she exhales heavily before tossing the bag on the sofa in the living room. "Hell, Hendrix, look at you."
"Look at me?" I ask, grinning. "Look at you. You have a kid. Holy crap. When did you become an adult?"
"I know," she says, laughing. "Did you ever think I'd be Mrs. Mom?"
Brady bursts back into the living room, truck in hand, making "zoom" noises as he runs the truck across the arms of the sofa, then climbs onto it with his shoes on. Addison trails behind him. "You're a great mom, Gracie," she says.
"Brady, shoes off." Grace is pulling off his shoes as Brady continues to stomp on the sofa, muddy footprints on the fabric, but Addison just laughs.
"It's only dirt," she says. "Let him be."
"He has to learn he can't totally destroy your house, Addison, even if he's a toddler," Grace says. "She's totally happy being the cool aunt who lets him run completely and utterly wild when he's here."
Addison grins, and it's the first time in the past few days I've seen her look really happy. "That's part of being an aunt," she says. "I get to give him toys and sugar, and then send him back to you."
Grace laughs. "See the crap I have to put up with?"
Addison shrugs. "Free babysitting, Gracie," she says. "Are you going to your shoot?"
Grace nods. "Is it bad that I'm totally nervous? I'm nervous. I haven't done a photo shoot in ages." She turns to me. "It's a modeling thing."
"I was going to ask if you were a model now," I say, meaning it. Grace has always had that kind of look.
"Hardee-har-har," Grace says. "I look like a hot mess. That's what being a mom does to you."
"You're not supposed to show up at a shoot looking gorgeous. They'll redo you," Addison says.
"I'm stupid for doing this," Grace says. "I'm too old. And I'm a mom. I totally have a mom pooch right here." She grabs at the flesh on her belly.
"I'm not listening to you," Addison says, making a show of putting her fingers in her ears. "La la la la la. Now, get out of here or you're going to be late. Hendrix can drive you."
"What? No. I've got GPS in the car. I don't need a babysitter. I mean, no offense, Hendrix."
Addison snorts. "But I do, apparently."
"What?" Gracie looks between her and me, and opens her eyes wider. "Ohhh...Mom said Hendrix was going to be your assistant."